


Switch

by alley_oops



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Military, Oral Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad Colbert is used to hero worship. But Hasser takes it a step further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Switch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jay_linden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jay_linden/gifts).



> Visual aids: [Brad](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v227/sally_simpson/Alex/colbert.jpg) (played by Alexander Skarsgard) & [Walt](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v227/sally_simpson/Alex/hasser_zps38539ebf.png) (played by Pawel Szajda)

Hasser was a good kid; Brad knew that. Earnest, dedicated, skilled. Shooting an unarmed civilian at a roadblock, right after Colbert had specifically ordered the men to wait on his command... Yeah, that was quite the fuck-up. But shit, the kid was living on one crappy MRE a day and hadn’t slept in more than thirty-six hours. Brad had made him switch out and take a seat in the Humvee, even though it meant putting that sociopath Trombley up on the turret. But Brad couldn’t force the kid to sleep.

Still, Hasser was a good soldier. Sometimes even good soldiers got twitchy, started seeing flashes of movement in their peripheral vision when there was nothing there, started seeing a threat on every dark face within a mile -- especially when all of them began to blend together, into one angry blur. The younger ones couldn’t handle the exhaustion of the march as well, not like the career soldiers. The enlisted boys, who knew their hitch would be up within two years, who were just doing it to pay for college or because they had nowhere to fucking go once they hit eighteen and got kicked out of their homes. They just didn’t have the stamina.

It weighed on Walt, the killing. Brad could see that plain as day. And if maybe the wounded innocence on Hasser’s face got to him just a bit more than any of the other kids’... Well, fuck. It sure wasn’t Brad’s fault that the kid looked like some fucking fashion model, all straight teeth and high cheekbones and lush lips, like someone fresh off a page out of one of those catalogs Simone used to dig on, Ambercrombie or some shit. Spank books for chicks.

“You’re a good Marine, Walt,” Colbert told him quietly, pulling him aside that night after he’d watched Hasser scratch out half the messy scrawl on the incident report, again. “A warrior. And we’re just doing our fucking jobs.”

“Yes, sir,” Hasser muttered, kicking up sand with his boots as he followed Colbert out past the berm into the shadows.

“Walt.” Brad stopped him, watching the kid’s face until the empty space between them roiled with the waiting. Until he had to look up and meet Brad’s eyes.

Hasser nodded, swallowing self-consciously. “I know. Thanks, Sergeant.”

A moment longer, spent staring intently into those depthless blue eyes, dark as a midnight sea under the Mesopotamian sky. “Don’t fuckin’ bullshit me,” Brad told him. “You write your report, you move on. And when I say move on, I mean fuckin’ let it go. You can’t have him blocking you for the rest of the goddamn invasion.”

This time Walt met his gaze more evenly, steadier than before. “I know, sir,” he said softly.

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ when we’re alone. I work for a living, same as you.”

Silence stretched between them and Walt didn't blink, didn't shrink away from the prolonged eye contact. He put it right out there for Brad to see, laying bare the solid case of hero worship he'd been building since they both got assigned to Bravo company, back at Camp Pendleton. The Iceman's reputation meant that other soldiers built the hype for him -- Brad didn't even have to do a damn thing, just stay frosty and hold himself a step back, stuck in that weird no-man’s land between officers and enlisted men. And the legends just gathered, growing like tumbleweeds. Those legends - half-truth, half-bullshit, all hype - shone starkly in Walt's blue eyes, and Brad realized suddenly that he'd made a hell of a tactical error, isolating the two of them like this.

“Why’d you switch me out for Garza?” Walt asked suddenly, and the question was so unexpected that it nearly rocked Brad back a step.

“What?”

“Why’d you switch me out for Garza, _sir_?” Walt repeated, slowly this time. “He’s good on the turret. You could’ve left me with Lilley and them.”

Brad shrugged, but it took him a second to come up with a decent answer. “Whitsham’s headed to Germany. Garza needs team leader experience, so I put him in your Humvee. It made sense for you to come to us.”

Hasser nodded slightly, those big blue eyes fixed unblinking on Brad’s. “Is that all it was?”

_Fuck_. Brad knew he needed to start scrabbling for the high ground, because the steady way Walt was watching him while he sucked on his bottom lip said very clearly that Colbert had just lost all strategic advantage in the conversation. “Corporal, if you’re suggesting that my actions were untoward in any--” 

“Of course not. I wouldn’t suggest that,” Walt interrupted softly, but he still didn’t stop _looking_ at Brad like that, Christ. “Did you get your combat jack today? I mean, it’s been a really long day, and if you--”

“Walt. Don’t,” Colbert shook his head, his eyes shutting tight for a moment. “You don’t--”

“I could help you with that,” Hasser insisted, stubbornly overriding Brad’s quiet objection. “Let me... let me...” He dropped to his knees in the sand, his fingers already working Brad’s belt open.

“No...” Brad’s weak protest trailed off in a moment, the hot seeking press of Walt’s mouth against his skin silencing him almost instantly. He shuddered hard when Walt tugged his shorts down his thighs, and nearly lost his feet entirely at the first touch of hungry tongue, sliding over the head of his cock. He knew better, goddamn did he know better, working his third tour and he’d already dealt with that kid Bullock in Afghanistan, the one who thought DADT was a motherfucking joke instituted for his own amusement... 

And Walt... Brad had never known quite how to label Walt. All the men were cocky, horny, and lonely as all fucking hell, Hasser didn’t stand out in any of those respects. He was just as selfish about his limited _Hustler_ time as any of them, and Colbert had never noticed him raising any suspicion with his behavior towards the other men. But the way Walt watched him, fuck. And now, with those lusciously full lips wrapped around Brad’s cock, those big blue eyes staring up at him while he swallowed a pearl of precome and sank back onto Brad in a demand for more... Yeah, there was no way this was the first time Walt had sucked a guy off. 

“You need to fucking stop,” Brad grated through his teeth, burying his fingers in Walt’s hair. And how the hell did that happen? He could shove Hasser away, right? Could leave him in the fucking sand and head back to the berm without him. But somehow instead Brad’s hands drew the kid closer, until Walt’s mouth nearly met coarse curly hair every time he swallowed Colbert’s erection. “Walt-- You--” Brad sank his teeth into his bottom lip and tipped his face back to the night sky, grimacing with the effort but just barely managing to hold back a shout as he spilled hot down Walt’s throat. 

For long seconds, only the sound of heavy breathing broke the silence between them. Hasser dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, then shakily pushed himself to his feet. Brad stared down at him, his mind still a fog, and held his empty hands carefully at his sides like he’d just been ordered to drop all weapons. Walt licked his lips, then took a breath like he was about to speak, like he could cut into the sudden brutal whirl of Colbert’s thoughts -- _fraternization, dishonorable discharge, don’t ask don’t tell_. Then Hasser shrugged a little, and gave Brad a faint bittersweet smile before turning and walking away, his boots crunching in the dunes.

Colbert could still feel the silkiness of Walt’s hair against his fingertips, imprinted on his sensory memory to haunt him over the sleepless nights to come.


End file.
